Leaves of Three

I can't decide if those who continue to touch me, to love me, have built up an immunity to my poison or are simply coping with the itch, ignoring the angry, spreading rash, swallowing the burn while grinning. I climb and you can't reach me, but I also lay myself on the ground and very nearly welcome your heavy steps. I'm in your wary awareness and as I come into view, there I exist, but you only point me out and daren't come near. I grow where things have been violently cleared before. Where chaos has been I creep in apologetically and try to repair the damaged earth with my roots. I can heal things beneath. But that's not what I'm known for.  I am known for my poison. My deliverance of pain.